Turn Back Time
by PrussiaXAustria1000
Summary: Roderich Edelstein is left heartbroken by another breakup with his boyfriend, Gilbert. In order to cope, he goes wandering the streets one night and finds himself in a nightclub, setting up what could be an entire twist in his life story. DenmarkxAustria-yaoi. Please enjoy and review.


**Hello. I'm back after an exhausting back surgery, but I couldn't stay away from writing, so I finally decided to dish out the DenmarkxAustria that I wanted to write. Please enjoy (and perhaps review). My English is not so good, so please be easy on me in that area.**

* * *

"No, Gilbert, please!" He could hear himself, and he absolutely hated it. He hated how weak, how pathetic, and how dependent he sounded in his own ears and in what he knew that Gilbert could hear as well. He hated how he could detect just a desolate hint of pleading in his voice, how he practically had to sprawl before Gilbert and _beg_him. It was always like this. Always. "Please, don't leave me!"

"Too late," replied the gruff voice on the other end of the line without even a trace of regret. Not a sign of sympathy for the man he was abandoning as if he were only an object. Oh, how apathetic the bastard sounded. How cold. That was the voice of someone _he_ had once loved, wasn't it? That was the voice of the man that he used to cuddle warmly against, to hug, to kiss ever so affectionately… to love. "Found someone else, Specs. You didn't think I'd stick around forever after that last spat we have, did you?"

But of course he had. He had always been the one to crawl back to the Prussian like a lowly animal, to get on his knees and plead for him to come back to him because there was no way in the world that anyone or anything could ever, ever make him feel like what Gilbert could give him. To make him feel _loved._ How he regretted those fleeting moments of guilt and shame, shame that only this cold and egotistical man could make him act so weak, that would always blossom into sweet relief when the other roughly agreed to come back. Even if it was only a short week of bliss before their love evaporated quickly into another heart-tearing break up. But Gilbert, despite all of it, had always come back…

But now the bastard had found someone else. Now, no matter how much he begged, the other wouldn't return. It was so blatant, so plain to see that this time the Prussian_meant_ it, and yet here Roderich was, still on the phone, still close to tears and trying so desperately to get his boyfriend back. A brief moment passed when the thought that perhaps Gilbert never really cared for him at all flew through his mind; but then he brushed it away immediately, and it was back to talking and pleading.

If only he could tell himself that it would all be alright. If only he were a better liar, just like the cold man that he loved. If only he could do such a thing to himself.

"Gilbert, I-I thought… I thought you cared about me!" He couldn't even count how many times he had said this line. Perhaps it was the tenth, the hundredth, even the thousandth. Gilbert refused to listen.

"C'mon, Roddy," he was saying, "I found this hot Hungarian chick who's really sassy. She's sexy, and I like her. That's all there is to it, but you make it sound like some kinda complicated mess. Shouldn't you be happy for me?"

Roderich only shook his head, trying so, so hard to believe that it wasn't true, to convince himself that somehow, Gilbert would be coming back to him. He didn't care how—he wanted the Prussian. He goddamned _loved_ him. What would he do without the albino by his side, in his home, keeping him company and away from the treacherous loneliness that threatened to engulf him constantly?

"Gilbert," he tried, one last time. If only one last time to knock some sense into the other's head. "Please."

It was almost a whisper—and somewhere in the back of his mind, he found himself thinking, in frustration, of the months the two of them had spent together in what he had thought was a budding relationship, something destined to have a meaning in both their lives. Was he wrong? Was he wrong about the Prussian? Was he wrong to think that there was ever something special between Gilbert and him? Was he wrong to expect that he would be the one for Gilbert, the one that the albino would _want_?

There was a brief pause in which silence flooded his ears and made them ring with its heavy, melancholic nausea that made him want to fall to the floor in a dizzying haze of denial.

And then: "No."

The line disconnected, and Roderich stood for a moment, phone in hand, staring at it in disbelief and wondering what he had done wrong for such a very long time.

* * *

He was a mess.

Roderich thought this as he gazed uncertainly at himself in the mirror that hung in his entrance hall; feeling rather self-conflicted, trying to decide whether he should go out tonight after all. Perhaps it would wash away his thoughts and memories of Gilbert and the oncoming depression that was demanding to pour heavily into his mind and dominate it completely. But where to go? He wasn't sure now, although it had seemed such a simple task beforehand.

Roderich reached with a trembling hand to flatten the creases in his cravat, feeling suddenly self-conscious, and almost tore the wretched thing off his neck when he remembered that Gilbert had always hated those things. But he kept it on—Gilbert wasn't here. Gilbert couldn't tell him what to do. Gilbert…

… Damn it. Now that he was free to think it over, it seemed that Gilbert had always made an increasing effort to govern every aspect of the Austrian's life. If anything happened to change, it was because Gilbert did or didn't like it. It was because he wanted this or that instead. It was because he just didn't care. Whatever.

Gilbert had wanted complete control. Why, then, did Roderich's heart thump so loudly in his poor chest? Why, he asked himself, did he want the other back so desperately? Why did he have to love everything that made someone so… _cruel_?

Gilbert was a man of independence. Well, as far as independent could go when one attempted to freeload off of his younger, hard-working brother for years. Eventually, Roderich recalled, Ludwig had tossed the older one out and yelled at him to get a job. Had Gilbert gotten one? Had he even tried to work? Or had he just…?

If Roderich was remembering correctly, he thought that Gilbert had said something about "crashing at Francis and Toni's places." Oh. So the albino hadn't even tried to acquire a career of his own. And yet, through all of his jobless, dependent-on-others-for-money, rambunctious lifestyle, he'd somehow managed to woo Roderich. Roderich Edelstein, the hard-working and diligent musician. Roderich, who always tried his very best to better himself each and every day, striving towards a higher goal, a richer life.

Somehow, he'd managed to trap the unsuspecting priss that was Roderich into his own web of malevolence and promise.

Roderich could recall only snippets of the night that he and the Prussian had met—under silver starlight, on the rooftop of a London bar, breathing in fresh night air that seemed to Roderich like drugging poison that crashed through the barrier of his careful mind and opened him up entirely to the watchful albino. He remembered how he'd let himself curl up defenselessly against the other, lost for words completely, watching through lidded eyes as the crimson-eyed angel had promised how he'd love him and how someday, under velvet curtains and sprawled upon silken sheets, he'd drag his tongue across the brunette's body and make him moan his name. He remembered the promises the other had made for a beautiful, poisonous future, filled with love-making and black moonlight upon their battered bedroom forms.

It was strange, he thought, how he could've fallen for such words when he had been so naïve, so innocent of such vulgar activity. He had always viewed such things with disgust—but somehow, when it tumbled through Gilbert's chapped yet handsome lips, he'd fallen completely. It was like the ancient Roman Empire—so powerful, yet brought suddenly to an unfitting end that none had expected.

He, Roderich Edelstein, had become a spider's prey.

He'd been so young and happy then. He hadn't been searching for a love—his love _was_his music, and that had been enough. He was a careful man, searching, hoping, and rose every morning to clean sunshine and fresh, dewy air. He was always so pressed and clean, at the ready.

Now… now, it was hard to see if he was the same Roderich under this new haze.

He scrutinized himself under the mirror's reflection. His appearance suddenly seemed unacceptable even to his own self: his clothes were too out of fashion, the now almost uptight-looking suit and the cravat looking instantly out of place; his hair too wild and untamed, that one curl spiraling out uncontrollably; his skin too unflawed and untainted, without the scars of those who toughened themselves up and scarred themselves through hard and war-like lives; the single mole that rested below his lips and sat so distractingly. It was almost an ugly sight.

_… How could Gilbert ever love someone like me?_

Perhaps I was different back then, Roderich forced himself to think. Perhaps I was a someone who was beautiful and unwavering in his decision, someone who wasn't constantly worried about the relationship, about life, about work. Perhaps I seemed more appealing then than now.

… Or perhaps he was overthinking it altogether. What was the point of thinking about Gilbert now anyways, when there was so much to do? He needed to clear his mind—get some relaxation in his sore muscles.

Roderich opened the door and stepped out into the night's chilly embrace.

* * *

He almost regretted being so empty-headed when he suddenly found that he had stepped unintentionally into a nightclub that was teeming and boiling over with the screams and ecstasy of the night-personas and unanswered libido of the couples and teenagers that came to drown out the stress of their other lives. He inhaled the sweet smell of alcohol, almost tasted the sweat of their bodies on his tongue, and saw their hips and bodies swaying provocatively and crashing together in the dirtiest of dancing that he'd ever seen.

He almost turned to walk out, but the thought of stepping in so suddenly unannounced and leaving without a word was almost humiliating. The thought made no sense to him—but it was almost like entering a store and leaving without purchasing. He hated that feeling. It did, however, give Gilbert a chance to label him further as a priss.

Roderich found himself wandering deeper into the club, scooting around the crowd of dancing men and women and finding himself by the bar. He knew that he looked completely out of place here, in his fine suit and his cravat. He was a sophisticated man—what could he have seen in a place like this that made him want to venture farther?

He searched for a familiar face and, to his surprise, found one. "Francis!" He called out, trying to shout above the terrifying volume of the _Pierce the Veil_ music that the speakers had suddenly begun to blast out. "Francis! Toni!"

Francis Bonnefois and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. The two men that always seemed to linger around Gilbert like a second skin to his (so he claimed) superior personality. In fact, to Roderich it seemed that such a thing might be true, as both the Spaniard and the Frenchman only appeared to spice up Gilbert's already intimidating, attractive character that had drawn him in like a fish on a hook.

They noticed him and waved back, a grin plastered to both their elegant formed yet completely different faces. Antonio was dark and tan, his emerald eyes shining brightly in their places like two large moons. He was pleasant and gullible at times, like a good-hearted choir boy. But he had his own charm and his own person saved for only the intimate bedroom stories that he wove out with the young boy whom he often brought along with him—Roderich could see it in both their expressions and their subtle, often violent exchanges. If not for Lovino, the easily aggravated Italian that had drifted along a month or so ago, Antonio would perhaps have expressed some interest in Roderich, since he and Gilbert seemed to have so many breakups that it was impossible for the Spaniard to ignore.

Francis, however, was almost an entirely different man. He was seductive, charming, with pale, ivory skin that shone like fragile coloured glass in the stark moonlight. His eyes were lovely and large with the sapphire colour of the ocean tide that rolled on the beaches on beautiful, sandy afternoons, filled with his smile and accentuating his, to be frank, beautiful features. He liked to dance, and when he did, swayed and wove his body almost like silk, weaving his fingers through his long blonde hair and dancing with his tongue expertly between a girl's lips. He liked Roderich and didn't hold back his words; he was an honest man and didn't force his love or control on others. Roderich liked that, although he couldn't say that Gilbert was as kind as Francis was.

It was a surprise that said Frenchman and Spaniard got along so well, with such differences in personality. And now they had beckoned him over, Antonio offering a seat next to him for the Austrian generously.

"Ah! Roderich, _mon ami_!" Francis greeted in a silken, smooth-spoken voice. "It is wonderful to see you!" He spoke it with such honesty and warmth that Roderich felt a small bit of happiness burst into his heart, and soon Antonio joined in with: "Roderich,_amigo_, we have missed you very much!"

They offered him a drink—he refused. Although he enjoyed the lush company of Gilbert's two friends, it worried him to drink around them; they tended to be overly rowdy and admittedly sexual once intoxicated. Not unlike Gilbert.

"So, where is Gilbert? Is he lagging behind, that _idiota_?" Antonio said it with a laugh, unaware of how the remark suddenly stung Roderich's heart. When the tanned man noticed, he turned to gaze at the Austrian, frowning. "You look very pale, Roderich. Are you well?"

"N-_Nein_," Roderich managed to murmur silently. The other two had been close friends with Gilbert long enough to understand bits of German, and they both leaned in concernedly, Francis with his glass of white wine in hand and Toni with his already almost-empty cup of bourbon.

"What's wrong, Roderich?" Francis initiated the question, and with only a glance at the other's expression, he immediately exclaimed: "It is Gilbert, isn't it? Something's happened to him? Or between the two of you?" To the second, Roderich nodded.

"_¡Dios mío!_" groaned Antonio, sinking back into his high seat instantly. "Again? The damned Prussian is so ignorant doesn't know what he has! Another breakup three weeks from the last! Damn that _idiota_!"

"Toni is personally touched by your situation," grinned Francis, lifting his glass happily to accompany what he thought was his rather clever remark. "You know that he cares very much about your relationship with Gilbert. Or maybe he just wants Gil out of the way so he can take you, _non_?"

"Shut up!" said Antonio defensively, slapping Francis on the back of the head with an obvious blush on his face. The other chuckled, looking amused, and set down his glass in case Antonio decided to try again—harder. "You know how sensitive Lovi is about these things! I'd never leave him." He shook his head, tipping his head back to gulp down the rest of his bourbon before clapping a hand on Roderich's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Roderich. We'll smack some sense into Gilbert's head. I think he's just been particularly stupid as of lately."

"No," said Roderich, shaking his head, almost regretting that he'd informed Francis and Antonio of his situation. They didn't know what was going on, they didn't know… "You don't understand."

"Of course we do," said Francis, sipping his wine cautiously now. "Or we wouldn't…" It was at that moment that his eyes drifted over to the doors of the nightclub, both of which had swung open unceremoniously during their conversation to unmask a couple clasping hands and entering subtly into the vicinity. Francis's eyes narrowed almost angrily.

"Damn him," he muttered under his breath. "Leaving you for… that girl."

"Oh… Oh no," moaned Antonio, catching sight of the long-haired beauty that grasped at Gilbert's hand. He watched them share a few laughs and then pull themselves into the dancing. "He… Roderich, we didn't know!"

"It's alright." Roderich stood, sighing and shoving his hands into his pocket. "You didn't know. That's nothing to be sorry for."

"But Roderich, we promise, we will knock sense into his head," said Antonio, looking a bit panicked. And then suddenly his anxiety seemed to subside a bit as he pondered, looking thoughtful. "… Unless…"

"Don't tell me that we're getting the same idea." A small smile spread across Francis's face, and as the two exchanged glances, they exclaimed: "_Yes_!"

"What is it?" asked Roderich, staring at the both of them confusedly. Obviously, they were both sharing the same idea—he felt he was missing some contextual information on the whole thing.

"That's exactly it, Roderich!" said Francis, allowing a wide grin to finally settle his face. "We'll…"

"We'll make Gilbert jealous!" said Toni, pumping his fist in the air and causing Roderich to eye him curiously. "We'll hook you up with someone else, and then he'll be so frustrated that he'll want you back!"

"After all," said Francis quietly, downing the rest of his wine and calling the bartender over for another, "It was cruel of him to leave you like that for someone else. We thought he really did love you."

"I'm sure he does," insisted Antonio, looking determined. "He has to. He… He told us himself, didn't he?"

"But I don't want to hook up with anyone," protested Roderich, feeling a rush of panic invade him. He hadn't been happy with anyone but Gilbert. For God's sake, he hadn't ever had anyone _but_ Gilbert! "It's just… It's just… he's the only boyfriend I've ever had!"

The others' expressions seemed to soften a bit, and then they both laid a hand on his shoulders comfortingly.

"Well, Roderich," said Francis, looking only slightly distressed but speaking with certainty. "If Gilbert's left you like that, maybe he doesn't deserve to have you. Maybe he's just a bastard who needs to get his just desserts."

"And if you stew like that over him," declared Antonio, "he'll have won. He'll lose nothing over it, Roderich, but you… you know that you can move on without him, right? Prove to him that you don't need him?"

The thought was exuberating—Roderich suddenly felt a realization of it somewhere deep inside of him, and oh, what a liberating feeling it was. "… I-I suppose that's true." He stood one last time, feeling comfortable at last with his decision to go out. At least it gave him a good talk with his friends, if nothing else. "Thank you, Francis, Antonio."

"Right back at you," winked Antonio. "But you'd better get outta here fast before lover-boy sees you and tries to kill you."

"He'd do that?" gasped Francis, eyes widening in slight surprise.

"He gets all fussy over his ex's," said Antonio, getting another glass of bourbon. "It'd be good not to mess with him."

With that final word, Roderich flinched, feeling wary, and moved across the bar with a last wave to the other two.

* * *

Roderich had been busying himself for over an hour, grasping and ungrasping the glass of Sauvignon blanc in his hand, watching carefully from a far distance as Francis and Antonio greeted Gilbert and his new girlfriend. The two men constantly exchanged disapproving looks, which went unnoticed by Gilbert.

_Subtlety was never his strong suit,_ thought Roderich as he took a sip of his wine._Stupid bastard._

His head continued to swim constantly with Francis's and Gilbert's words. Perhaps they were right and he really did need to move on. Damn it, maybe he did focus on Gilbert too much. He should get out there—enjoy himself a little once in a while.

This he though on while narrowing his eyes unhappily at the Hungarian girl that Gilbert had brought along with him. She really was very pretty. Probably fierce. She looked like a fighter, and she did have one tattoo that peeked out from under her tight black long sleeve. It looked like it wound far up her arm, curving and spiraling around to—

"Hey there!" Roderich's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud, arrogant-sounding salutation from some guy at the bar. He turned to his left and was greeted by a strange yet admirable sight.

The man sitting beside him was shirtless—it made the blood rise to Roderich's face. But as his eyes traveled up his well-toned chest and up to his face, he found himself staring, wide-eyed.

If there ever was a handsome face, he'd certainly have to say that this one was. The male's eyes were a brilliant, soft blue that seemed to burn through Roderich's own amethyst orbs. Topped by thick, well-shaped, dark eyebrows and a mischievous grin, they gave a curious, youthful and vigorous appearance. His large smile was entrancing, almost, and Roderich observed his teeth.

_They're perfect…_ He thought, almost in disbelief. _Straight and white. Hm…_

He had wild, blonde hair. A nice cut, one that Roderich most likely wouldn't have preferred, but for some reason... it looked right on this man's character. It went well with his facial features, his broad shoulders, the muscled body… Roderich couldn't help but let his eyes wander. The stranger was certainly tall—even in their seats, he towered over Roderich by a couple of inches. Draped across his bare shoulder was a long, black coat with red cuffs that seemed a strange buy, and Roderich found himself wondering where the other could have possibly gotten it.

"Hey! Earth to hottie! You still there?" Roderich flinched at the inappropriate nickname, and immediately countered: "Please, don't call me such a name."

"Oh, you're a sophisticated one, aren't you. Good-looking too." The other gave a feisty grin and a wink, and Roderich found himself growing red.

"E-Erm, thank you…?" He fussed with his cravat and went back to gripping and un-gripping his glass of wine that the bartender had given to him with a disapproving look. He could only suppose that people who came here came to drink heavily.

With the stranger's remark, he found himself to be correct. "Hey, looks like you're drinking something really light there. Sauvignon blanc, right?"

Roderich was amused and surprised at the same time and raised an eyebrow. "You can place a wine." He nodded.  
"How nice. Here I thought you were more of a beer person."

"Yup, beer's more my thing. Probably in my Danish blood." A laugh escaped from that pleasant grin of his, and Roderich found himself listening and wishing he could hear more of this laugh; it was loud, rambunctious, and somewhat annoying, but it was happy and cheerful. He liked it.

"You're Danish?"

"Yup, you can tell, can't you? Probably in my good looks, huh?" Roderich couldn't possibly tell what good looks had to do with racial background, but he gave a distant nod and went back to sipping politely at his drink.

"Hey," said the stranger suddenly, and Roderich gazed back at him, finding his stare on the drink in the brunette's hand. "You know, that's not what people come here to drink."

"I know," mumbled Roderich. Coming here and staying for so long was a bad idea, after all; he was engaging in conversation with a stranger (although, admittedly, it was pleasant), and now he was being noticed for what he was _drinking_, over all things. Wonderful.

"You should try something else. I know something real good."

"Like?" The question was posed, but not meant to be answered—unfortunately, the blonde didn't seem to understand that.

"Bartender!" He yelled, and the man rushed over in a state of agitation. "Two Kamikazes, please!" The bartender muttered something about heavy drinkers before hurrying to take out two rather large glasses and mixing some sort of drink.

"N-No, you don't have to go through this trouble!" said Roderich, starting to feel out of place and feeling his heart pulsing faster by the moment. "I-It's really too much!"

"C'mon, it's fine!" said the blonde, grinning again and shoving a glass of the strange drink into his hand. "It's all on me. Seriously, have a try."

The drink was sour, it made Roderich's throat sting, and it left a strange taste in the back of his throat. He choked, trying to get it down and finding himself staring into the liquid a bit lightheadedly. And strangely, when the Dane clapped a hand onto his back, he found himself lifting his glass and taking yet another sip without any hesitation at all.

"And pray tell," the other was saying, "Where do you get _your_ good looks from?"

* * *

Neither of them was sure how they'd gotten into this position—the next thing Roderich knew, he was in the Dane's embrace, the other with an arm around his shoulders, dragging them both out to his car, and they were racing along down the streets with almost no sense of the meaning of "speed limit".

And then they had entered the other's apartment, lips locked in a heat battle for dominance between their sweet tongues, the traces of heavy alcohol still in the Dane's mouth leaving a funny aftertaste on Roderich's own tongue. He liked it, though. He liked how the other had one arm locked tightly around his waist, the other holding both of his weak arms behind his back. His lips attacked Roderich's, not caring how the other whimpered needily and tried to wrestle out of his grasp.

Then Roderich was thrown on the bed, the Dane's coat coming off to reveal his topless form. The blonde threw himself down on top of his Austrian partner a bit too excitedly—not that Roderich particularly minded—and they were grinding against each other's crotches, panting heatedly. Roderich tried not to let the moans escape his lips as the other left sweet kisses on his neck and soft lovebites on his shoulders. They were bound to leave marks, but Roderich didn't care, because his pants were coming off. He hooked his arms around the other's neck.

In the next moment, he wished he hadn't, because the Dane had taken his wrists and held them above his head against the wall, smiling contentedly as he looked up and down the other's position. "Hey, I like you like this," he remarked as if it were the cleverest line.

Roderich glared at him. "Just… g-get on with it-_oh_!" He found his lips betraying him to emit a choked moan as the Dane grabbed his erection through what little fabric was left on his nearly naked form and began to rub and squeeze, beautiful blue eyes lighting up excitedly as he watched Roderich's reactions. "D-Damn you!"

"That's not what you were saying when we left the bar," laughed the other as he pulled off the Austrian's boxers. He went down on him almost too quickly for Roderich to registers, and moans and trembling curses were thrown from the brunette's lips in a tumble of chaotic syllables suddenly as the blonde swirled his tongue at the tip of his erection, poking at the slit, and then engulfing the pulsing limb.

"A-Ah! Nngh!" It was pleasure—sheer, wonderful, amazing pleasure, and yet it wasn't enough. "M-More! Please! Aah!"

"Someone's eager." He spared a moment to speak before taking Roderich into his mouth completely this time, not wasting a moment, and beginning to suck and bob his head. Roderich let out a sweet, long moan as the Dane hummed with his erection in his mouth, still working to find every sensitive spot in his reach.

Before long, the other's pants and boxers were off as well, and Roderich's hands were free at last so that he could cling to the other as his legs were slung over the blonde's shoulders.

"I don't have lube," he said, glancing up at Roderich warily. "It'll hurt."

"I don't care!" was the response, and to that he got a burning pain in his arse as the other entered him quickly, pushing into the tight ring of muscles that he'd never had penetrated before. "A-Ah, p-please, be… be careful…"

The Dane rolled his eyes before getting ready to continue. "Told you it'd hurt. Are you alright?"

"Fuck yes. Just get on with it."

Roderich feared it might have encouraged the other too much, because the blonde took the chance to withdraw completely pull out and then slam back in at full force. He let out a yell of agony, and had a lock of his lush brown hair pushed aside by the Dane. His glasses were removed and placed in the nightstand.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" The playful tone in the other's voice almost upset him.

"Shut up, moron."

It took a while to find the Austrian's prostate—when he did, the blonde loved hearing those soft, begging moans that came from deep within the other's throat, and he slammed into him, feeling the sweat of their skin together and leaving soft kisses against the brunette's lips and neck. Screw the plan to spend the night at the club with his four friends—he could do that another time. When he'd be able to connect so deeply with the Austrian he'd fallen for if he had skipped out on this chance… he didn't know.

Roderich was in a state of both ecstasy and vengeful satisfaction. He'd never done this with Gilbert—never! If sex was all that the Prussian had wanted from him (Roderich might've figured it out from the constant asking and asking), then Gilbert wasn't going to get his chance with him. And the way this Dane was making him feel, no one else had ever been able to do…

"D-Damn it… s-so close…! Ah!" He climaxed—his seed splattered across the Dane's stomach and his own, and within a few moments, the other had released within his still-tight hole.

"Fuck..." The blonde spared a moment to give a warm laugh. "I've never felt anyone so tight before."

"Just… sh-shut up… moron…"

The taller chuckled softly as he brushed his fingers through Roderich's chocolate brown hair as the brunette sighed and fell into a deep sleep, murmuring contentedly, "Whatever you say, Princess."

* * *

Roderich woke up to sweet sunshine and songbirds whistling their mating tunes to their partners in a lovely, satisfying tune of happiness. His mind was hazy at first, as well as his memory—a few moments later, he remembered.

"… Morning, Princess…" The other got a smack to the head for the disapproved nickname. "Geez. Just got up and you're already all over me, huh?" He let out another laugh that sent a bubble of guilt to Roderich's head before it popped and left him exhausted all over again.

"What… what happened last night?"

"We had great sex." It wasn't what he was asking, but the Dane seemed to think it was a suitable answer. "What else do you think that was, Princess?"

"N-_Nein_, I meant _how_ did we ever get to that in the first place."

"You got drunk and started ranting about that stupid ex-boyfriend of yours. Jesus, the tears that you were spilling and those awful things you said about that bastard made me want to shut you up."

"And…?"

"So I kissed you. And things got pretty hot from there. You can ask the bartender and those crowd of guys watching, I think they loved i—"

"Shut up." Roderich turned over in bed to face the same bright blue eyes that he'd seen the night before. They were there, only softer and kinder than ever and burning in their full beauty in this glorious sunlight.

A moment of silence went by.

"… What's your name?"

"My God, you have a way of doing things backwards. First you want to have sex and_then_ you want to know my name."

"… So. What _is_ your name?"

"… Mathias."

"… I'm Roderich."

"Roderich, huh?" Mathias nodded in approval, moving to wrap his large arms around his newfound lover. "I like that. Cute."

Roderich only swatted at him half-heartedly before smiling warmly. "Mathias. I like that name, too…"

They lay there for what might've been hours in Mathias's bed, feeling the sunlight splayed across their bodies, Mathias's arm around Roderich's shoulders. His large, comforting hand stroked the other's cheek lightly, making the Austrian blush lightly. But he let Mathias continue—he was quite content with it.

The phone gave an unexpected ring.

"… That's mine." Roderich sighed and proceeded to sit up, reaching to the carpeted floor for his pants. Mathias merely laughed and nodded slightly, watching Roderich with a smile as the other retrieved his phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"_Hey, Roddy._" Gilbert's voice. What did he want? "_Hey… uh… y'know. That Hungarian chick and I? Last night, we went to this bar and, well, things didn't go too good. We split up._"

"… What?" Roderich felt a sudden rush of anxiety and anticipation, and he sat up straighter, his eyebrows furrowing with shock. "What did you say?" Mathias sensed the moon and made a move to sit up, watching Roderich with some concern in his eyes.

"_We split up._" Roderich's blood ran cold, and he nearly crushed the phone in his grip when he heard Gilbert say: "_So you wanna get back together?_"

Roderich didn't respond for a moment. Without a word, he shut the phone and closed his eyes for that brief moment of darkness to flood him just for a second, seeking comfort. Maybe answers. Or maybe he was praying that Gilbert wasn't serious…

Mathias's voice brought him back. "He wants to get back together with you." The usually jovial tone had dulled down suddenly, and Roderich immediately felt guilty.

"Mathias… I… I don't…" What was this wave of disappointment that was suddenly swallowing him? Why the regret? "I'm… I…"

"It's alright." Mathias reached forward, this time to pull him into a comforting hug. "If you love him, that's alright."

The only words that could escape from Roderich's lips were: "Mathias… I'm sorry."

* * *

**This is meant to be a one-shot. The title and ending are left entirely open to your interpretation. I hope you enjoyed this and will perhaps review. :) Thank you!**


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